A post. I think I have exacerbated myself recently, or rather for a while, with emails I have been keeping up with. So much thought projected there and none left for anywhere else. I will get fleeting ideas that disappear like the speck in the corner of your eye. I find myself blinking with purpose to see if it will appear again. Wishing, only moments later, I had written it down. Sometimes it comes back to me but it has morphed into something a bit different and not what was intended.
What is it with this memory loss? There are things I can remember, odd things some would look past, signs and symbols in events I can see and piece together. But the ones within my own mind are lost; left unturned in the lid of the box. The edges aren't together yet, so maybe they should keep where they are. I'll keep searching for the flat edge as a given.
I sit here, ruminating, over people I come into contact with at work. How some have an icky sweet stench of insincerity and those, so genuine and real like the daisies on my kitchen counter. How easy to tell the difference in the types. I am amazed by those of the rehearsed persuasion, ones that would kill a plant to spite the bug, at the request and demands they feel comfortable in making of me. How they feel anything from a simple lie to out-and-out fraud is of no consequence. They then feel slighted that I will not accommodate what would be so convenient for them. My ethics have deep roots, however. Why would I carry forth a thing only to arrive with it rotten?
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